A Moment to Breathe
by Cassandra's Vision
Summary: A drabble set right after the episode "Siege," Narcisse finds Francis in the throne room and two have a serious talk about love, loyalty, and their plan to save France.


_[Set immediately after the episode "Siege," this might turn out to be slightly AU depending on next week's episode. This is what Narcisse and Francis might be going through in between episodes.]_

Narcisse burst in to the throne room, the rapid pace of his strides conveying the alarm that engulfed the castle. He was usually so cold and deliberate, but at this moment he was afraid, truly afraid. He stared at the vacant thrones at the center of the room. The silent and vacant halls were telling: everyone had either run away or hid themselves elsewhere.

He could have left. He could have snuck out of the castle through the secret passageways and hidden corridors that lined the castle walls. Instead he remained here.

Stephan Narcisse expected he was not long for this world. If he ran Catherine would find him and he would be punished. If the castle was sieged and the bastard Bourbon or his fellow Protestant followers found him, Narcisse would be a dead man. If he managed to escape in time before or during the siege…what then? What life would he have: one of running and hiding?

Everything he had in life he earned through his family name, his title, his looks, his marriages, and the use of his sharp mind. He did not know how to truly fight. He had avoided the Italian wars by sending most of his knights and household in his stead. He could hunt, but only with the weapons a rich noble would be familiar with, and when he did hunt it was not out of the need for survival but for sport. His hands were soft, untouched by labor. He could run fast with only the clothes on his back but that would paint a target on his back. He could steal clothes from a servant, but that would also make him an easy target for others to pick off. He knew how to fence, but he was more skilled at dancing and wordplay. He enjoyed practicing archery at home, but he doubted he could hit a moving target. He looked, talked, and acted like the high born, rich nobleman that he was. He wouldn't survive living like a peasant, even if his pride let him. He would be dead before the first of the winter snow thawed.

It all came back to him now, memories of every time he had taken his life for granted, every time he had insulted a peasant, every Protestant he had imprisoned, every person he had wronged, every lie, every sin. If only he could take it back, repent. But it was too late to be the good man he could have been once. Much too late.

How fitting then that at this precise moment he noticed he was not alone in the throne room. A movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to the fact that the young King Francis stood staring out of a window, his face pale and blank, the shell of a man.

"She betrayed me," Francis murmured. His voice was flat with no emotion. He sounded tired. He sounded empty inside. "She's hurt me so many times. She is the reason for every death, every injury, every pain…"

Narcisse approached the king slowly, only nodding his head in agreement. For once he was silent and he was not scheming.

"I should hate her. But then I remember…" Francis turned to Narcisse and acknowledged his presence for the first time. "I remember everything." Francis left the window, turning his back on Narcisse for a moment, his shoulders hunched.

"You've been married three times, is it? Four?" Francis asked.

"Too many times," Narcisse admitted.

"Did you ever think your wives could betray you this way?"

"No. But I was never married to a queen."

Francis slowly sunk in to his throne. He stared at his feet. "And what a queen she is, abandoning her people as usual, only ever thinking of herself, and never once thinking of the consequences of her actions and the many people and countries they affect."

"A woman like that should never be more than a consort, she should never be a true monarch—"

"But she is and that's the problem."

"May I speak frankly, your grace?" Narcisse asked.

He was met with a pair of rolling eyes. "When have you ever not spoken your mind to me, Lord Narcisse?"

"Divorce her. Punish her."

"We're Catholic, we can't divorce—" Francis shook his head.

"Then have her beheaded for treason. The English King Henry VIII beheaded two wives on less evidence."

Francis was shocked by this suggestion. "It's not that simple—"

" _Nothing_ is simple in this life."

Francis shook his head violently. "I still love her," he whispered. He repeated the words again, louder this time. " _I still love her_. A part of me still does after _all_ of this. I want to forget her. I want to hate her. But still there is a small part of me that remembers the way she would look at me with so much love in her eyes…her smile…the way I felt with her…at peace, as if we were one being between the two of us…"

"I won't pretend to know how you are feeling—"

" _Then don't_ ," Francis snapped. "Where were you when everyone thought I was dying?"

"With your mother. I prayed and prayed that you would—"

"Did you pray for my quick death? My younger brother Charles would be so much easier to manipulate, especially now that you're sleeping with the Queen Mother. Yes, I know. I know everything, but I truly wish I did not. I wish I didn't know anything about any of this. I wish I was ignorant of all of this. But I'm not." Francis turned to look up at Narcisse, staring him directly in the eye. Francis's dark eyes burned with intensity. "But you are enjoying this, I bet. Turns out you needn't have blackmailed me after all. All it took was my own wife betraying me for King Francis to loose his crown."

"You haven't lost. You are still the king. You are still the king in the eyes of France and God."

"We'll see if that's true tomorrow morning…tomorrow night…"

"Your grace…" Narcisse started. He closed his eyes for a moment before slipping in to a perfect bow for his king. "Your majesty, you are my king. I do as you command. I would rather die than see the Conde on the throne. He is not even a real prince, it's a title he and his brother gave themselves. You however are the _real_ king, the _true_ king. And I would rather die than see my king loose his crown."

The words were spoken softly without a hint of parody or sarcasm. Francis realized that this was Stephan Narcisse at his most genuine.

Francis chuckled lowly. "And here I thought you were the only serpent in our midst's. Instead that snake is Bourbon and now here you are bowing before me a few months after blackmailing me and threatening the very thing you now say you defend: my rule. Oh how the times have changed."

"I am perfectly serious."

"I know and that's what makes this all the more comical and twisted in the way only a king's life can truly be. Life never ceases to amaze me."

"I have tried to send word to my men at my estate to come and defend the castle. I do not know if my messenger was intercepted…"

Francis continued to laugh. "This is too perfect. You offering your men to protect me? I must be going insane!" His laughter grew more hysterical with each breath until the sound ceased and was replaced by an eerie silence.

After regaining his breath, the king spoke again, his voice as sharp as a knife. "Why should I trust you? Why should I trust anyone ever again?"

"If I wanted to betray you I would have already done it. I would have left the castle and joined Conde and his troops. If I did not care for you I would have snuck out like everyone else. But I stayed. And I'm staying to defend and protect my king."

"I expected you would be the first rat to scurry away. I might as well look at myself as a sinking ship and all the rats have fled. Except you. My wife is gone. I saw her sneak out of the castle. She's going to _him_. So now she's made her choice. She's finally left me to join that liar, that usurper. If my own wife won't stand by me, why should anyone?"

"She no longer deserves the title of wife or queen," Narcisse spat. "She has betrayed France and Scotland. She has proven time and time again that she only cares for herself. God help Scotland the day her mother dies."

"And France…?"

"I would see to it that she never takes another breath in France again."

Francis furrowed his eyebrows. "I should have executed you for _your_ treason, but I didn't. Or have you forgotten about your part in all this?"

"You can blame whomever you want, but we are still here surrounded by men who would see both of us dead. Blaming me won't change that."

Francis stood. He was now higher than Narcisse from his spot on the stairs. It felt good to literally look down on a man like Narcisse. If the situation was different Francis would have relished this moment.

"You are right. So what do propose we do? We don't have enough men."

"Conde's men were bought and paid for. They fight for whoever holds their purse. They can be persuaded."

"And so can our men."

"Some men believe in loyalty to their king."

"Every man will do whatever is in his best interest, king or no king," Francis stated flatly.

"I heard you lead a small group of men and retook Calais from the English. Where is that man?" Narcisse asked. "You weren't hiding behind your mother's skirts then and you aren't now."

"Your own general changed sides—"

"Did he, did he truly?"

Francis looked down at Narcisse in confusion. "What?"

"Like you said, every rat will flee from a sinking ship if they're smart."

"I don't understand…"

Narcisse smiled. "I heard your sister-in-law was quite acquainted with the General. Perhaps he cares for her. Everyone has a weakness and a rat like Renaude has more than one weak spot, the trick is to find the right angle. He can change sides for coin and position…and for fear for his own life and maybe even the woman he loves."

Francis's eyes widened. "What are you suggesting?!"

"It's about what happens to the Lady Kenna that'll make Renaude talk. It's what he thinks _could_ happen. He'll talk and tell us enough about Conde's plans so we can stop this snake before he devours us all. All men have their breaking points."

"And yours?" Francis asked. "What's your weakness?"

Narcisse smiled sadly and thought about Lola. "The same as you: the love of a beautiful woman."

* * *

 **[I know I should be writing more of my other Reign fan-fic, but since that one was completely canon, you can just watch the recent episodes. Hopefully this summer I'll be able to write and finish other Reign AU stories, but I write about as fast as George R.R. Martin or Thomas Harris, about as fast as a snail, so we'll see…]**


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